Introduction
by Synthetic Voice
Summary: I wasn't going to upload this until I had more of the main story complete, but as it looks, the main story may never be completed. This is a visualization of a scene from VtmB; basically, this introduces the main character of the story I'm writing.


My boots were quiet until I hit the sand – and walking on sand is difficult. Especially at night. Especially in fashionable, high-heeled boots. Okay, they were knock-off Prada, but a girl on a budget does what she can. The beach was small in comparison to some of the others in Santa Monica, but I wasn't here to tan or sight-see. The 9mm slid in the waistband at the small of my back kept my mind from wandering too far away from the task at hand.

I didn't even have to look far – there was the fire pit, and the boom box playing "Smaller God" by Darling Violetta. And staring into the flames like a kid who couldn't stop staring at the sun was my target, a thin-blood named Julian. It was sad, really – he was just a kid, thrown into this world of darkness by a Sire that either didn't know him or didn't want him. He didn't know what he was, and that's what had brought me here tonight. We had a lot in common, and yet…if I didn't do my job, we'd both end up six feet under.

"Hey. Your name Julian?" My voice broke the silence, and he visibly stiffened. I knew who he was, but I'd act the idiot for his sake. Maybe I was giving him a chance to defend himself? Deny his crimes? He looked up from the flames, brown eyes going wide. The fire played shadows on his pale skin, skin that should've been tanned to a deep coffee that spoke of his heritage. Instead it was paled by the lack of sunlight, giving him a sickly look that was unappealing. His mouth opened and closed in an attempt to make words that were all but snatched from him by utter terror.

And I hadn't even pulled my gun yet.

"You the one who's been talking?" My voice was low as I slowly stalked forward toward the fire pit. He looked around hastily, as though his friends would come to his aide – but they were long gone. E, Lily, and the others had left knowing that it wasn't safe to stick around any more. Not even just for thin bloods – the Final Nights seemed to be upon us, or else someone was just playing a really sick joke on the entire area's Kindred population.

"I-I-I don…I-I m-mean…b-b-but who…w-w-who?..." His hands came up defensively, eyes going as wide as dinner plates. And I know people use that metaphor all the time, but I'm serious. Any wider and they would've popped out of his skull. That combined with the stutter was a cross between endearing and utterly annoying. I sighed and rubbed my right temple.

"Look – have you, or have you not been working with David Hatter?" He shook his head vigorously, mouth gaping. He was going to deny it until death.

"But he said it was you. That you were telling him all. About. Us. Do you know who that 'us' is, Julian?" I must've looked a fright – the flames flickering off of my curly red hair, setting it alight. My face probably hidden in shadow. Stalking towards him, armed. Dressed in knock-off everything. Ok, mind on the matter at hand.

"No, n-n-n-no! I-I-I didn't…p-p-please!" He started backing up even though the fire pit was between us. I stopped at the edge of the pit, hands on my hips.

"No, you don't. You don't even know what you are. But that's beside the point." My right hand slid to my back, fitting into the grip on the gun. The gesture was obvious, and Julian let out a loud gasp – far more dramatic than the scene called for.

"Fuck-ups aren't tolerated, Julian. If you're going to do something, you have to do it all the way. And not get caught." I started to move to the left, around the pit. Julian immediately started walking away but I was pushing him towards the cliff face that edged one side of the beach – he had nowhere to run. He must've realized this, because he started pleading.

"Y-y-you could l-l-let m-m-me go! Y-y-you don't, don't h-h-have to k-k-k…."

"Yeah, I could. I could let you go right now, and you'd never show your face in L.A. again. But the thing is, Julian, did you learn your lesson? Will you do this again?" I took another step, bringing me within five feet of him – with five feet of nothing but empty ground between us.

"N-n-no! I w-w-wouldn't!"

"Yeah, it's easy to say that now. But see, here's the thing – I let you go, and you screw up again? That's not just your head on the block anymore. That's my head, too. And I like my head. I like it a lot." I pulled the gun out from its place and held it pointed towards the ground, my forefinger just outside of the catch around the trigger. I don't like guns – most Kindred don't. They don't work well on other creatures. Swords work much better, but my katana was back at my apartment in downtown L.A. being cleaned by my ghoul. The 9mm was all I had to work with, but for a fledgling like this, it would do.

"So convince me, Julian. What could you possibly say that would let me let you put my life on the line?" The silence fell over us; the only thing breaking it was the soft rain and the waves crashing on the beach. The music from the stereo seemed in time with the flickering of the fire.

And I, I could have died last night  
But I heard the voice of a smaller god  
And I, I could have died last night  
But I heard the voice of a smaller god

It was like the music was pleading with me too, but there was nothing I could do. The Masquerade had to be upheld, for all of our sakes. It didn't matter that he'd been used up and thrown away before he could learn enough to keep his mouth shut. That same mouth had stopped gaping – he knew he was out of time. We all were – all of us undead freaks were running on borrowed time, but borrowed from what? That was a question best answered later. I used the gun to gesture at the ground.

"Please. I don't want to make this anymore painful than it has to be." His eyes flickered to the gun, to the sand, to the surf. His body was tensing – he was going to try and run for it. Why was he making this difficult? Did he really think he could outrun me? For a second I wished he would, just so I could beat the shit out of him. Celerity would out him and have him at my feet in a matter of moments. My knees bent gently, and the movements made me sink into the sand another millimeter, the blood ready to be spent. Chasing him through the sand to the pier would not be fun. What if he decided to go out to sea? I was not chasing him into the water.

But he surprised me. He dropped down on his knees, slowly, one at a time. His head was hung, showing defeat. I brought the muzzle of the gun to his left temple, lining it up carefully. One good, clean shot would mean Final Death for him – and a finished job for me.

"On the count of three," I murmured. His breathing – he was dead, why was he still mimicking breathing? – sped up, hands starting to rise as if in protest.

"One." A cry broke out quietly from his mouth; it was pathetic. Hands rose up halfway reaching for his face, to cover his eyes from watching the sight of his own death. The gun was in position; all I had to do was pull the trigger.

"Two." His head came up, eyes wide and wild. I had to raise the gun quickly – he was about to leap to his feet to run. His mind had changed, he thought he could make it to the pier, maybe reach the cops still up there; maybe try to save himself. I pulled the trigger, quick and loud in the night air. He froze, and then his body dissolved into ash in the rain.

"Three." I paused for a moment, letting the barrel of the gun cool as well as watching the waves reach up and pull what was left of Julian into the ocean. Raising my line of sight, I could see clear out along the bay – the boats that had been there earlier were gone. The Elizabeth Dane and its accompanying coast guard escort had been relocated to a nearby dock once the ship itself had been declared safe. I pulled a tiny wireless cell phone out of one pocket and flipped it open. Pushing one button, I speed-dialed a number. After three rings, a feminine voice picked up, sliding along my skin like cashmere.

"His collaborator is dead. David is fine – yes, I have his script," I replied into the phone. I turned towards the fire and looked into its depths. Sliding the gun back into the back of my pants, I reached into an inner pocket in my jacket, pulling out a manila folder. On it was written one word in crisp lettering: _Kindred_.

"Consider it destroyed." I tossed it into the flames and watched it burn. Our kind was safe for another night – from this one threat, at least. I sighed into the phone.

"I'll see you when I get back to Hollywood, VV." I snapped the phone shut, slipped it back into a pocket, and headed up the stairs towards my cab.


End file.
